


A Doom/Darcy Crossover Smut Drabble

by TheOtherAdler



Category: Fantastic Four (Movieverse), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOtherAdler/pseuds/TheOtherAdler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This came about from an RP with a friend. Pure smut, no plot to be had here, references the RP a little, but only glancingly.</p><p>Just crossover wtf and fun, but hints of dubcon. Also bondage. For reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Doom/Darcy Crossover Smut Drabble

Darcy stirred, her vision slowly clearing as the drugs wore off, leaving her in a strange state of contentment despite her current situation. It wasn’t unpleasant  but it was certainly confusing, especially when she realized that she was naked and that, on trying to move her arms, found that she couldn’t. They were stretched over her head, and there was a snug pressure around both wrists, accompanied by a distinctive rattling sound when she tugged. It sounded ominously like chains, and if she’d been in a state of mind to worry, she would have begun to just then.

She frowned and shook her head to clear it, scattering her curls but accomplishing little else. She was steady enough to know that she wasn’t in any immediate danger (though there was a sly, dark little thrill of anticipation there). She also knew that there was someone nearby, though she couldn’t see him yet. There was a scent, though; heady and masculine, distant but enticing… oddly familiar?

It was the same warm, woodsy smell she’d noticed on the envelope that’d been  slipped under her door weeks earlier.

“Victor?” she murmured, senses finally clearing, but not enough to allow for panic.

A tall, hooded figure stepped out of the shadows, and Darcy caught the dull gleam of metal. Surely she hadn’t seen what she  _thought_  she’d just seen? It was only a glimpse, there and then gone again, hidden in the lightless depths of his cloak. 

The apprehension became a flicker of fear as she squinted up at him, her bared back pressed flat against the cool stone.

“Yes, Darcy.” Victor’s polished tones assured her. “What’s wrong? Don’t you recognize me?”

The question was delivered lightly, almost playfully, but there was something darker behind it that unsettled her, if only briefly.

A single gloved hand reached for her—slowly, as one might try to touch a startled fawn. It brushed her cheek gently, and Darcy shivered. His touch, even through the thin leather, was strange—hot, but with a muted electric tingle behind it.

This was so completely unlike her—this was  _beyond_  weird, in fact, but she wanted more of that feeling. A faint pink blush bloomed across her skin, and the sigh that left her was noticeably shaky.

Smiling dizzily at Victor’s still-shadowed form, she gave him a look of bright-eyed longing, and his soft, echoing chuckle of approval sent a sweet flutter of tension pulsing through the core of her. Darcy knew nothing of spells or witchcraft, and even less about Von Doom’s heritage. She also had no idea that a key component of the little brew he’d slipped into her drink earlier was an aphrodisiac, or that the faint sparks of electrical heat from his hands were part of a much stronger and more dangerous power. At that moment, in fact, as her bare form strained ardently toward his, all she knew was that she craved his touch so keenly it left her breathless.

He stirred slightly, turning his head so that the dim light fell fully across his face—only, there  _was_  no face. The handsome, smirking playboy was gone and cold, angled steel in the crude form of human features greeted her now. The metal was worked into an expression of permanent malice, and Victor’s dark, agate-green eyes peered back at her from behind the mask, calm and unblinking.

Horror was her immediate reaction—the whole design of the thing seemed intended to create exactly that reaction—but something else called her attention more urgently, and as she fought within herself, she had every impression that he was  _smiling_  at her, perfectly aware of her confusion.

Then his fingers curled around her hips, smooth leather tugging at the skin, and her entire body was suddenly afire. Eyelids fluttering, Darcy groaned through clenched teeth as he pressed against her—impossibly solid, and nearly as chill as the stone at her back, even through the layers of clothing. She didn’t even care—as long as he was touching her, allowing her to grind shamelessly against him, surely nothing else mattered.

His palms stroked upward slowly, fingertips dancing lightly over her sides, following the dip and curve of collarbone and shoulder, sweeping down her shivering arms, and then diverting, frustratingly, to leave a tingling trail between her breasts, his curled knuckles coming to rest just above her navel.

Squirming and twisting in her fetters, Darcy whined in eagerness, one leg rising to curl around his hip. 

This time, she not only saw his eyes crinkle with amusement, but heard the faint echo of his laughter to go with it. She was undeterred and wholly unashamed, past embarrassment and lost to pure, scalding lust.

His hands spread wide, and she was almost—just almost—unsettled by how strong those hands were. There was no give to whatever lay beneath the protective leather, but still they brushed feather-light across the delicate sides of her breasts with a surprising gentleness.

The faintly galvanizing buzz of his touch left a delicious heat everywhere it passed, and the effect was far from lost on her, even if she had no idea where it came from.

At last, he cupped her generous breasts, thumbing the nipples to and fro while watching her with hungry, steel-caged eyes. Darcy’s head tossed wildly as the pleasure built, her hips rocking in a steadily quickening pace against his, leg curling tighter to press herself more firmly against him.

‘ _God, why doesn’t he put those magic… whatever fingers where I_ need _them to be_?’ she thought in frustration as the urgency mounted.

But he was clearly enjoying his cold distance, watching her writhe and gasp as he squeezed both breasts gently, rolling the nipples until she arched, nearly coming undone… but not quite yet.

His hands lifted and her head snapped up, mouth open to curse at him between panting breaths, but something in his eyes stopped her. She’d never seen him look at her that way before, and her heart gave a little flutter of panic in response. What was going on, and what was he about to do?

Without speaking, he leaned closer to her, fingers twisting tightly through her thick curls and eyes locked on hers while his other hand pressed, palm flat and fingers splayed, just below her stomach.

The ecstasy hit like a physical force. She didn’t even have time to catch her breath—a long, ragged cry was simply torn from her by the sheer intensity of it. Only the pressure of his body against hers and the heavy cuffs on her wrists kept her upright as her knees folded, and she gripped the chains above them convulsively, riding each blazing peak that swept her up, only fading when exhaustion’s thin fingers finally gripped her.


End file.
